All Those Weird Ron Quotes
by Lizzy Lovegood
Summary: Remember all those funny quotes that Ron said in the movies that made you snort with laughter? Ever wonder if there was something behind them? Look into Ron's brain, however scary it may be, to find the truth about all those weird Ron quotes!
1. Following the Butterflies

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter . . . uh, yeah. . . . I have also quoted lines from the movie, _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_, which is not mine.

**All Those Weird Ron Quotes**

**Following the Butterflies**

_"Follow the spiders. Why couldn't it be follow the butterflies?"_

_Ron Weasley, Chamber of Secrets Movie_

Harry, Fang, and I walk out of Hagrid's hut that night, Harry looking excited since he is on the trail of a new clue. Or that might be Fang, sniffing where he can mark his spot and lifting his leg against a tree. Harry looks grim and I can tell he's in his "let's get this over with," kind of attitude; or it might be his "let's save Hermione who I'm going to marry one day," kind of attitude. Or maybe it's "let's find out what's happening so I can save everyone and be the hero of the school once more," attitude. I could never really tell the difference.

Meanwhile, I'm glum - no, more than glum - grim, depressed, nervous, scared, um . . . what's a word for all of those? Oh, yeah, I'm _petrified_! I am going to die in that forest, I know it! Hagrid has told us to follow the spiders - _Hagrid!_ If it was Dumbledore . . . OK, maybe not Dumbledore, he's a bit crazy, but Hermione or someone who told us to follow the spiders, I'd understand why. But _Hagrid_, the man who kept a three-headed dog in the school and named it Fluffy, who illegally got a Norwegian Ridgeback, named it _Norbert_, and dumped the responsibility of getting rid of it on us! Or that might be my grudge from getting an infected hand talking, not my mind.

Hagrid's a really good friend, but still . . . follow the spiders. Those creepy, crawly spiders with their eight legs and big eyes and sticky webs. Ugh, I shudder at the thought!

"Maybe they're not going into the forest," I venture.

"No, they are. Look," Harry says, pointing his lit wand at the trail of spiders crawling with those creepy eight legs of theirs (why did God create creatures with eight legs, why?) into the dark, even creepier, Forbidden Forest. Damn you, Harry! Why did you have to be so right?!

"Follow the spiders. Why couldn't it be follow the butterflies?" I whine as we walk toward the forest.

"Just come on. We have to figure this out," Harry urges.

I immediately get a mental picture of Hermione lying motionless in the hospital wing and I nod, deciding to press onward. However, just then I see a bright-colored flash pass me and I look toward it, but it's gone the next moment. Gulping, I steel myself to walk into the darkness of the forest, but then there's that bright color again. Looking at the spot where I saw the cascade of bright colors . . . I see nothing. I sigh, my mind must be playing tricks on me again.

"What is it?" Harry asks.

"I thought I just saw . . . never mind," I say. I sigh again, that sounds like something Hermione would say. As I take the first step into the darkness of the forest, I see that bright-colored glint _yet again_. There _must _be something there! However, as I look it's gone again, but I'm not giving up that easily.

I gaze raptly at the spot where the color disappeared, ignoring Harry's impatient words of, "Ron, come on!" and "Come on, mate!". I continue to gaze at the spot, and, from the dark, a bright-colored wing seems to materialize, belonging to a monarch butterfly.

My mouth falls open and Harry gasps as well as the two of us see a parade of butterflies fly past us, their wings fluttering in the nearly nonexistent breeze. I know that butterflies are more of a girl thing, but never have I been so happy to see the pastel colors of their veil-like wings. They have saved me from heading into that horrid Forest, for now I see that they're skirting the Forest and heading for a part of the Hogwarts grounds that I have never visited before. I make to follow them, but Harry stops me with stern words. "Ron, wait. We can't just go off like this, we have to figure this out." Goddamn you, Harry!

"You can go figure it out, Harry," I say. "I can't go in there, I have a serious fear of spiders, you know that. Arachnophobia or whatever. Come on, they're _right here_, I'll follow them, who knows, maybe I'll figure out something with these butterflies and you'll figure out something with those. . . ." Here, I shudder. ". . . .spiders," I finish.

Harry stares at me for a moment then says, "Fine. I'll go with Fang and you follow the butterflies." I nod, only too glad to, but as Harry leaves, I can distinctly hear him murmuring words under his breath such as, "Wuss," and "Coward." I'll show him, I decide, I might actually figure something out by following these butterflies and then who will be the better of the two of us? Then, Hermione might actually notice me . . . why the hell am I thinking like this? All I want to do is get Hagrid out of Azkaban and help get back at that thing that hurt my dear, beautiful H- . . . um . . . hippopotamus . . . not Hermione, of course not. She's just a friend, a good friend. . . .

My thoughts trail off as I follow the butterflies, guided by the light cast by their nearly luminous wings, seeming to create an ethereal glow in the darkness. Under these bright lights of sorts, I feel as if I can fly as high as a bird or a broomstick or those weird flying machines that Muggles come up with - pairlanes, I think they're called. Or, I think, forget the pairlanes (or is it airplanes?), and I'll just fly as high as a butterfly, I decide. In this trance-like state, I follow the butterflies through a clump of bushes and what I see astounds me.

In this enchanted glade that I seem to have landed myself in, there are butterflies of every shape and size, some as large as Fang and they're all fluttering around, stopping to seem to talk to another of the creatures, then flying down to take nectar from one of the numerous, brightly-colored flowers in the glade. I wouldn't be surprised if fairies started flying around, sprinkling fairy dust on all of the occupants (including me).

And that's why I decide to leave, for if someone came across me now and saw I, Ron Weasley, standing in the middle of this glade with butterflies (which I've said already are a girly thing) and flowers, then I'd be the laughingstock of the school (I already kind of am, besides Neville, I think). Plus, Fred and George would never let me here the end of it, calling me gay and all that. I decide to go and find Harry, and, although that would be facing my worst fear - spiders - at least it would be more 'manly,' and I could be a hero instead of being a wuss and a coward (as Harry called me) by waiting for my best friend to finish with the brave work while standing by myself with butterflies. I sigh and turn to leave, there's no sense in staying any longer, who knows who might come along and see me (even if it is this late at night, centaurs and werewolves - after they've transformed back to humans - can still talk).

However, as I leave, something catches my eye in the darkest corner of the glade (which is still pretty light, anyway), which makes me freeze in my tracks and nearly piss myself. There, in the darkest corner of the glade is a _huge _spider. And when I say huge, I don't mean the spider that seems huge when you're lying in your dormitory and it crawls up your bedpost and you scream and turn on the light to the dismay of the four guys you're sharing the room with. Then, without saying anything, you smash the spider to pieces with your coveted copy of _Flying With the Cannons _and realize that the 'huge spider' turned out to be only the size of your fingernail. Not only that, but your dormitory mates tease you about it until Christmas break . . . why is it that that only seems to apply to me?

But never mind, this is a _HUGE _spider, humongous huge, bigger than Hagrid's hut huge, its legs thicker than a tree trunk huge (and for a spider it _does _have nice legs. . . .). Why the bloody hell am I thinking like that? The spider is _HUGE_!!! I am stuck where I'm standing as if someone's put a Full Body-Bind on me and am only able to give a frightened squeak as I feel the sweat trickling down me in gallons. I am going to dry up from sweating so much, I decide, either that or slip in my own sweat as I try to run away, that is, if I could run. Have I mentioned seeming to be in a Full Body-Bind yet?

However, the spider doesn't seem to realize my fear. "Who are you, human?" it asks. Without asking myself how the bloody hell a spider can talk, I realize that its voice is strangely feminine. It seems that 'it,' is a 'she.'

I decide that by speaking, I may gain myself some time in my quest against death, either by being eaten by the spider or drying up by sweating so much. "R-Ron W-Weasley," I manage to stutter, my voice barely a sound at all.

The spider nods its (her) head. "Ah, and you go to Hogwarts, R-Ron W-Weasley?"

I nod, my mouth so dry that I can't speak.

"I see," it (she) says. "Hello, R-Ron. I am Mosag. It is a great pleasure to meet a student from Hogwarts. My husband was bred by one of your kind and I have always had the highest respect for students for what one of your kind did for dear Aragog." I guess that she means Hagrid, I don't know who else would take up care for a giant spider.

"A-Aragog?" I ask. "You mean there are _more _of you?" I feel like fainting then and there, but perhaps it's the Body-Bind that keeps me on my feet, that or the thought of being torn apart once I show weakness to this giant creature.

"Oh, yes. A whole colony of us," Mosag answers. "My husband lives in the Forest, though I visit here sometimes for tasty snacks."

At these last two words, I nearly faint. "T-Tasty. . . ." I manage to start before falling against a nearby tree trunk.

"I meant the butterflies," she says with a laugh, at least that's what it sounds like, there is something high-pitched and giggly between the clacking of her pincers.

"Oh," I breathe and I realize that the supposed Body-Bind seems to have worn off.

"Here, let me show you," she says, as she sees a particularly large (and I guess juicy-looking to her), butterfly flies into a silky web set in the darkest corner.

"No," I say quickly. I am naturally very squeamish and don't think I could bear to see an innocent creature such as a butterfly torn up by a spider's sharp pincers, even if this spider does happen to have some kindnesses toward humans.

Mosag looks somewhat disappointed as if she is missing out on a real treat by having me here (though not to do with her appetite, thank God!). However, she sighs and waves a giant (and well-shaped, ah, stop it!) foreleg nevertheless. "Go on, then," she says. "You will come and visit again, won't you?"

I don't have anything to say to this, so I simply say, "Um . . . I'll try," and walk briskly (OK, I _run_), out of that glade. At least it wasn't as bad as it could have been, I thought, like if I'd followed Harry into the Forbidden Forest and probably met that Aragog that Mosag was talking about.

I look up and notice that more butterflies are still filing into the glade, a few of them to meet their unknowing doom by Mosag. However, there is no reason not to enjoy them now (and I try not to picture them being ripped apart piece by piece by the giant spider) and I watch the parade of beautiful colors file past me. As I walk, I'm not watching my step and I trip over a tree root that I didn't see in the dark. . . .

I awake with a start in the Gryffindor common room that night and see Harry sitting across from me. Have I gotten back already, then? Great! I get up and am about to go up to the dormitory when Harry also awakens, yawning spectacularly and getting up, looking at me in a strange way as if waiting for something. Well, Harry's always been strange that way, maybe something with Aragog and all those other spiders traumatized him . . . that's what he gets for not following the butterflies with me. I shrug and head toward the boys' dormitory when he says, "Ron, come on! We have to get down to the Forest." I see that he is already digging his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

"What do you mean?" I ask, unpleasantly surprised. "I thought we just got back."

"What are you, mad?" he asks, looking at me quizzically. "We just woke up because we dozed off while waiting for the common room to empty, remember?"

I groan. "Not tonight, Harry."

"_Yes_, tonight. We need to figure this out. _Come on_, Ron," he says, throwing the cloak over his back and holding some of it open for me to climb into. I sigh and go over to him, hoping with all my heart that there will be more butterflies.

Note: Next chapter - one of Ron's quotes (that I find hysterical!) from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Think you can guess which one? Put it in your review (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). :)

Note: And before anyone asks, no, I am not doing a chapter for _Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone_. Even though Ron had lots of funny quotes in that movie, a.) I couldn't think of a story for them that could kinda sorta connect with these (there is a bit of a connection that you'll see as I go on) and, b.) I first planned for this to be a one-shot, because this is my absolute favorite quote of Ron's in all the movies, but when I found all these other funny quotes, I decided to write more and going back to _PS/SS_ wouldn't go with the chronology. Despite wanting these to be as funny and entertaining as possible, I also want to show Ron's emotional growth.


	2. TapDancing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Tap-Dancing**

_"Spiders! Spiders, they want me to tap-dance! I don't want to tap-dance!"_

_Ron Weasley, Prisoner of Azkaban Movie_

Now this is a part of Hogwarts that I have never seen before, maybe Harry has it on that Marauder's Map of his - that thing's pretty wicked. I wonder who those gents are that made it - Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, they must have been even more mischievous than Fred and George because the twins learned nearly everything about the school from those four Marauders. But the names sound faintly familiar, as if some inner voice is telling me who they are, but I can't grasp it at the moment. Wait a moment, what if. . . .

I gasp and my heart skips a beat as I spy a framed picture on the wall. It shows two spiders on a web, crawling around and eating flies that have been ensnared in the sticky threads of their webs. But it's only a picture, that's all . . . just a picture . . . only a picture. . . but who the bloody hell would hang a picture like _that _up in the school? Peeves probably put it in as a joke, I think. He's heard enough bouncing around the school to know I'm afraid of spiders and must have lured me this way with his sing-song voice - I should know enough about hinkypunks by now to avoid that type of thing, though. Ah, well, no one's perfect, but the funny thing is I can't remember heading this way.

However, I decide to keep going, for suppose that this place _isn't _on the Marauder's Map and I think of what Harry will say when I rub it in his face about what I found. Then, maybe we can find a way to add it to the Marauder's Map and rename it Harry and Ron's map, because those Marauders didn't really find out everything about the school, it's us, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley (but mostly the latter) that found out _absolutely everything_. In fact, I wonder what Fred and George will say when they realize that their little brother isn't following in the footsteps of the arrogant prat, Percy, but is instead following the "Fred and George route," as Percy would probably explain it or the "Fred and George path that you have to swerve on to avoid heavy and/or prank-playing objects that they've placed in the aforementioned path." Basically they'd think that I, Ron Weasley, wasn't a total loss after all and that I'm important (even if it is in the mischief-making sense - which to me is the most important sense of all), which is something I've always strived for, after being the youngest brother in the Weasley clan.

I allow these happy thoughts to carry me to a pair of double-doors, much like the ones that lead into the Great Hall, except these ones have a design of spiders emblazoned across the lintel and the sides. I gulp and think of all the glory I will achieve by finding this secret area of the school, then push open the doors and what I see makes my blood turn to ice and I literally begin to shake.

For there, in the middle of the hall, there is a huge throne inlaid with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, and emblazoned with the spider pattern I saw on the double-doors that led into this room of horrors. However, the throne is not what scares me (who would be scared of a throne, anyway? Would they be a throneaphobic? Or could it be on a symbolic level that they are scared of attention? That would be Harry all around). Ah, well, I'm much too lazy to analyze throneaphobia right now, for it is what is _on _the throne that scares me. There is a giant spider, as big as Aragog with a glittering jewel and spider-emblazoned crown perched on his head. However, this spider is not as old as Aragog; in fact, he looks as if he's in his prime (I'm guessing it's a he, because it doesn't have nice legs like Mosag . . . ah, _why _am I thinking like this?!). This simply adds to my fear for a giant spider in its prime (or a giant anything in its prime, for that matter), is not good, because it means that it can run faster, catch you faster, and bite your head off faster (though then it might hurt less).

I'm willing to bet my broomstick (though it wouldn't be worth much), that this is another one of Hagrid's 'pets,' that he put in the school to guard a Sorcerer's Stone or something of the like for Dumbledore. Who knows, maybe behind that throne there's a Spider's Stone that grants you immortality. But I'll leave that to Harry, he's the hero who's supposed to impress everyone and marry Hermione after all . . . not that I care, Hermione's just a friend, a good friend. But I'll think about my feelings for Hermione (not that I have any), once I'm safely back in the common room and I turn - very quickly - to leave.

However, lady luck is not with me today (in fact, it _never _seems to be with me when it comes to spiders) and the massive beast claps its two forelegs together. "The entertainer is here!" it calls and, almost immediately, spiders appear from every nook and cranny, crawling out on their tremendous eight legs (ugh!) or swinging down like acrobats on their silken spinnerets. I am only able to let out a frightened squeak as all these spiders stare raptly at me with their bulbous eyes. What do they want me to entertain? Their taste buds? Do spiders _have _taste buds? I definitely don't want to find out. Or perhaps they would think it good sport if they all attacked me at once and tore me apart, seeing which of them could get the most succulent parts. At these thoughts, I feel myself become paralyzed with fear (you know, the Full Body-Bind), as I was with Mosag, except I doubt that these kind will be as friendly.

The lead spider seems to have think he has waited long enough for he clacks his pincers together angrily and I start. "Well, what are you waiting for? Entertain us!" he orders.

They aren't going to eat me? My heart leaps but quickly plummets again as one of the lower-ranking spiders snaps, "Are you a tap-dancer or not? Our king, Wilkalian, has ordered a tap-dancer, and a tap-dancer he shall have!" Tap-dancing? They wanted me to _tap-dance_?! I had never danced a step in my life, I have two left feet, didn't these creatures realize that? No, I suppose not.

However, I try not to panic. Instead I ask myself what Hermione would do in this situation. I know what she would do: use some complicated spell on the spiders that I've never heard of in my life (and probably never will hear of), and then run out the door before any of them can realize what has happened. But I can't do that, so I decide to do the only thing possible in this situation: tap-dance. "Um . . . of course, I can," I lie, stalling for time as I try and come up with a plausible excuse. Besides, the longer I stall, the longer I stay alive. "I am a famous tap-dancer from . . . Swaziland, which is renowned for it's tap-dancers, you know, so you are in for a real treat, Your Majesty," I say, trying to still the quivering of my hands and hoping that the spiders can't hear my heart thumping as loud as a drum in my chest.

There is a collective murmur among the spiders and I can tell that I have never heard of Swaziland, and, to tell the truth, neither have I, I just thought the name sounded cool. Hermione probably has, though, and maybe she's mentioned it in passing. I decide to ask her . . . that is, if I get out of this alive, and to do that, I must tap-dance. Ah, well, I've been in weirder situations. I look down at my feet, trying to think of how to calm my knocking knees and notice that I have on a pair of shiny, black shoes - tap-dancing shoes? Where the hell did I get those? Ah, well, at least I have something new rather than those hand-me-downs that I get from everyone (even Scabbers - a living hand-me-down - is getting worse), so I decide to enjoy something new while I can and this puts a bit of life into me.

With that, I begin to dance as well as I can. The spiders' eyes follow me and I wipe a sheen of sweat off my forehead. I hear the loud clacking noises that my shoes are making, I've never really understood the point of tap-dancing myself, but it seems to entertain the spiders for they are clapping their forelegs together very slightly and I grin very slightly - I will _live_! I kick out with my right foot, and, much like Neville, I trip over it landing and hitting my head - hard- on the wooden floor. There is a collective murmur from the spiders and they narrow their eyes, obviously not believing that I am 'a famous tap-dancer from Swaziland,' now, because a famous tap-dancer would not trip over his/her feet. The last thing I remember seeing is the spiders advancing on me before I lose consciousness.

"Spiders! Spiders, they want me to tap-dance! I don't want to tap-dance!" I gasp as I regain consciousness, hoping to stir the heart of some kind-hearted female spider and have her take pity on me and let me out of this horrible nightmare that I seem to have landed myself in.

"Tell those spiders, Ron," says a voice right near me. How does this spider (it sounds male), know my name?

However, I am losing consciousness again am about to sink back, so I simply murmur, "Alright, I'll tell them, I'll tell them. . . ." and . . . fall back to sleep? This is a _dream_? I could have escaped from this horror by just staying awake? Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it! I am so immersed in mentally berating myself that I don't notice myself coming back to the dream-world once more and the spiders crawling toward me. I hop up, not sure what I have to do, but knowing that I can't die in this dream-world and willing to try anything to get out of this nightmare (which I now realize it actually is).

Therefore, I hop up, willing to follow the person's directions (could it have been Harry?) and say, "Spiders, spiders, and King Wilkalian, lend me your ears! I do not know how to tap-dance!" I don't know what I'm doing, maybe if I had planned a more elaborate delivery I could have stalled for time, but the lines sounded alright in my head.

After this declaration of sorts, the spiders all stare at me and Wilkalian finally says, "Well, you are of no further use to us, then. My children have been very hungry for a while, anyway." I decide that this must be one of Aragog's 'children.' The spiders nod, their pincers clacking angrily (and is it hungrily?) and they start toward me, already beginning to unravel threads from their spinnerets. Even if I can't actually be killed in this dream-world, it can still be very uncomfortable.

"But, wait!" I cry. "I may not be able to tap-dance, but I can do something better."

"What?" one of the lower-ranking spiders asks.

I allow there to be a dramatic pause, I should make the full effect on these creatures if I am to avoid being eaten, after all. "I can _break dance_," I say.

"What?" the same spider repeats, scratching its head with a foreleg and looking confused. All of the other spiders echo it, even Wilkalian.

"It's a type of dancing that is popular these days," I explain. "With humans, that is and um . . . Romania, is famous for it's break dancers, because I'm _actually _from Romania."

"It is?" Wilkalian asks.

"Yes, of course," I say in a tone very like Hermione. The spiders look cowed by this and I decide to thank her afterward. And, although I've never even break danced before (or done any type of dance before, as I have mentioned), I try this as my last chance. I immediately begin to move my body grotesquely, spinning around on the ground and twitching at strange intervals. Dad's told me about this curse called the Cruciatus Curse and how it causes the person it is cast on great pain. I imagine that my attempt at break-dancing looks somewhat like the effects of a Cruciatus Curse, but that's only a guess.

However, if the spiders knew that I was making this up as I went along, they didn't show it. Instead, they gathered in a circle around my twitching and pulsing body and began clapping in rhythm, saying, "Go, go, go. . . ." Even King Wilkalian got off his throne and joined the throng, clapping along with his subjects. Finally, I finish, wiping a sheen of sweat off my face and I stand up. The spiders burst into applause, whistling (can a spider whistle?) and cheering. I raise a hand to hold off their enthusiastic applause, but they will not be stopped, they continue to clap until Wilkalian comes up to me. My blood feels as if it's turned to ice again, but he actually seems to grin (can a spider grin, too?) and he asks, "What is your name, human?"

"R-Ron," I manage to stutter and the spider nods.

"Well, R-Ron from Romania. I offer you my crown," he says, taking his crown off his head with one of his legs and placing it on the floor. I'm glad he didn't have me hold it, I probably would have collapsed from the sheer weight of it, that is if I'd been able to hold such a large thing.

"Um . . . thanks," I say. "But I don't need it. I have, um . . . many other trophies for break dancing and would not want to, er . . . scratch this wonderful crown with all the clutter." However, it may have sold for a reasonable price, though I don't think I would have been able to bring a dream object back.

"Alright," says Wilkalian all too easily, placing the crown back on his head. Is it tradition among these creatures to give up their crown to a superior? I'll look it up . . . no, now I'm sounding like Hermione! With that, I walk out the double doors and, instead of the hallway with the spider pictures, there is a spinning black darkness and I fall through it, screaming and rolling in the wind as if in a hurricane or a tornado.

A flash of memories passes me, me falling off Charlie's broom in my attempt to fly it when I was five years old and the twins laughing at me, me sitting with Harry on the Hogwarts Express and trying a marshmallow-flavored bean, me kissing Hermione . . . wait, what's that? I go to inspect closer but am swept away by another wind. I didn't know that this dream-world showed the future, and, if it does, I would bet it would be more reliable than Trelawney any day. But if so, how far is it in the future? Not that I care. Harry would probably kill me if he saw me kissing Hermione, anyway. But . . . there the picture is again! I battle through the wind toward it, and just as I'm getting close enough to see us, I am swept away again and there is someone shaking my shoulder. "Ron? Ron, mate, are you alright?" I look up into Harry's emerald-green eyes, framed behind his circular spectacles.

"Hey, Harry," I say, sitting up and groaning as the room starts spinning.

"Ron, what happened?"

"What do you mean, 'what happened?'" I ask, disoriented.

"Well, you were twitching around when I got in. What happened?"

I am too disoriented to think about Harry's first statement. Instead I say, "Oh, I was break dancing for the spiders since I couldn't tap dance."

Harry looks at me, as if fearful for my sanity, then says, "Oh, alright then," and climbs into bed, pulling the curtains around him.

"It was only a dream!" I call after him, trying to convince him that I am perfectly sane (and sober, if that's what he thinks).

"I know. Just a dream," Harry murmurs and next second drifts off and is fast asleep. I sigh and pull the covers around my bed from when Harry pulled them back and allow myself to drift off with dreams of myself as a world-famous Keeper for the Chudley Cannons and a break dancer from Romania.


	3. Dance Lessons

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, particularly the movie, _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire _from which some quotes are taken.

Note: During this particular scene, I always have trouble remembering the quotes, so bear with me if they aren't exact.

**Dance Lessons**

_"Now, just place your right hand on my waist."_

_"Where?"_

_"My waist."_

_Ron Weasley and Minerva McGonagall, Goblet of Fire Movie_

Oh, God, this must be some sort of nightmare or something, that is the only possibility. This is even worse than driving that Ford Anglia as if my life depended on it (which it did), away from those man-eating acromantulas. If only Mosag had been real, and not just because she has nice legs. . . . Why the bloody hell am I thinking this? She is a _spider_; _spiders_ cannot er . . . do anything with humans. But Hermione can. . . . Ah, I'm going crazy! Hermione is a _friend_! What was my point again? Ah, well, it doesn't matter anyway.

Mum actually thinks I have ADD, to tell you the truth. What is ADD? I don't know! And more importantly, I don't wish to know. Oh, wait, it's coming back to me now, it stands for Attention Deficit Disorder or something like that. Of course, that's in Hermione's terms. In English, it's that I have trouble paying attention and go off on these crazy tangents, at least that's what Mum says. I can pay attention perfectly when the subject's interesting enough - like killing Snape in the most gruesome way possible (letting a herd of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts loose on him has its points). But for stuff like History of Magic, everyone is bored and dazed if not asleep within ten minutes, coming to just to jot down a random phrase or word. Mine are usually nonsensical, a bit like this.

_Goblin Rebellions_

_goblins . . . bad_

_many people die, goblins are unclean . . . ugly . . . bloody rich_

_Snape is a vampire._

_Snape and goblins die during rebellions._

_um . . . goblins bad, wizards beat goblins I think._

_Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. . . ._

And that's all, there is no more. I repeat: _that is all._ Hermione's the only great one in History of Magic, she's so nice and smart and wonderful and b-, um the _best _person in the world (or at least in Hogwarts), for letting us copy her notes.

"For the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance," I hear McGonagall say. _What? A dance? Nooooo! _Who the bloody hell mentioned a _dance_ of all things? Oh, yeah, McGonagall, that must have been my point at the beginning. Maybe Mum's right about this ADD thing after all and maybe, just maybe, if I pay better attention in my classes, Hermione will notice me. Not that it matters, it's to bring her own self-esteem up, because it's not like any guy will ever really want to have a relationship with her, especially since Harry, her only hope, seems to like Cho now. I mean, come on, she's a bookworm! If she could choose between reading _The Advanced Theory of Numerology _and watching a close Quidditch game between the Cannons and the Arrows, she'd choose to _read_! Not that there's anything _wrong_ with that, I'm a supportive friend; and, as a supportive friend, it is my job to help her. Therefore, if it makes her self-esteem go up to have a relationship with me, I'd be open to help her and that would be it. That would be all. Seriously . . . really. . . .

Although even I - a supportive friend - have to admit that when her hair is all tousled after coming in from a windy day outside, it looks kind of nice, and now that her teeth are shrunk, they look . . . pretty nice. So now she looks, er . . . more nice. I wonder what she's wearing to the Yule Ball thingy; I wonder how she's doing her hair. Should I ask? Has anyone invited her yet? Probably not, I tell myself. She's pretty plain-looking, but, maybe as a friend, I could. . . .

But, no, it's a dance, a _formal _dance. So, not only do I have to dance (_formal_, old-people dancing, not break-dancing which I can at least do alright. But then again, that might have been because one: it was a dream and two: I was in front of a crowd of man-eating spiders that would tear me apart if I didn't entertain them, and make me extremely uncomfortable even if it didn't kill me). Plus I have to wear those horrible dress robes that Mum sent me with lace and a button-up collar, so they basically look like a _dress_! I may have followed butterflies into a glade a few years back (and even _that_ was a dream!), but I am not and never will be gay! I actually did consider burning them, but then realized that someone might take pictures, (who knows if Colin is going with anyone?). The robes that the bouncing ferret git laughed at when he saw me unpacking them in the Great Hall. How I hate him, I just want to rip his head off and plant it on a stake at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room to warn any Slytherins that Ron Weasley is a fearsome person. And then, Hermione will see how brave and macho I am, and will go to the Yule Ball with me . . . as friends . . . to boost her self-esteem. . . .

But, no, I have to _dance_ and right now McGonagall is talking about _dance lessons_, the whole reason why this day is the worst day in the history of Hogwarts. Dance lessons? _Dance lessons?!_ I _cannot _dance! Haven't I stressed that enough? No, it seems not and it seems that McGonagall doesn't care, for she's droning on about how great Godric Gryffindor is and how Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for, well . . . for a long time (there goes my trying to sound like Hermione), and basically how we had better not mess it up. Stupid bloody founders, I bet it was Rowena or Helga who came up with this stupid Yule Ball dance thingy in the first place and Godric and Salazar were all whiny about it. I bet _that's _why old Slytherin made the Chamber of Secrets, because he was angry about the Yule Ball, so Harry can blame all of his misery in second year (and all of Hermione's misery!), on Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Guess he can forget about Cho Chang, now. But then again, guess not, she's too pretty to be evil and Harry's a stubborn, noble jackass, anyway who would try to save Cho from the "evil of her House," or whatever. However, while I reflect on the plight we Gryffindors have gotten ourselves into now (oh, Merlin, I sound like Percy!), Fred and George are murmuring something and laughing under their breath while all the other Gryffindor boys are looking bored.

However, the girls' side of the room is the exact opposite of this, they're all passing notes to each other (it's a good thing that Mad-Eye isn't here). Even Hermione is, she just wrote something to Ginny, who shows it to Parvati, who shows it to Lavender, who breaks into a fit of small giggles and the four grin at each other. I roll my eyes - girls, you can't live with them and you can't live without them. Hermione shoots me a glance now and I feel my ears go scarlet. What does she want? What was that note about? Is she thinking of inviting me to the Yule Ball, is she wishing that I would invite her. Or . . . is she saying that she was asked by someone else? No, that couldn't be! It couldn't! Because . . . because it wasn't like any guy would ever want a relationship with her, and if she had been invited it was probably a guy teasing her - that git, it was probably Malfoy. I'll make sure to get him back when I go with her, because that's what good friends do, especially when their girlfriend (as in a friend who's a girl, not a _girlfriend_), is one as sensitive as Hermione.

The girls giggle again and the guys roll their eyes as McGonagall turns to them and says, "Inside every woman there is a swan, waiting to burst forth." The guys sigh and Hermione shoots me another glance. Or she might be looking at Harry with his arm in a sling and everything, as if he's a big hero when all he did was outfly a Hungarian Horntail who could have given him a slight roasting and, oh, yeah, he nearly fell off the castle roof. But besides that, he wasn't at all brave!brave stuff and it was me, Ron Weasley who had to put an arm around Hermione to comfort her while she was screaming her head off and saying something about a wand. Oh, yeah, that might have been for Harry to use a Summoning Charm, because she's _so _much smarter. Then again, I might panic when I'm about to be roasted, too. She might as well give up, though, she doesn't have much of a chance with him, like I said, he fancies Cho, but there is _me_. So, is she staring at me or not? And if so, _why_? I mean, it was me, Ron Weasley, who nearly had a heart-attack when I saw him doing all that

And there's only one way to find out. Throwing caution to the winds, I say, "There's something that's about to burst inside me and I don't think it's a swan." The Gryffindors around me laugh, yet McGonagall turns to me, a strange expression on her face. OK, maybe that _wasn't _such a great idea. Great, now she's going to take a million points off of Gryffindor and I'll be nothing again - I'll be Ron Weasley, the youngest son in my family and a kid who's afraid of spiders - in other words, nothing.

However, I've never been particularly skilled at Divination and McGonagall doesn't say what I think. In fact, it is something far worse than taking a million points off of Gryffindor. She smiles and says, "Inside every man, there is a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr. Weasley, would you join me, please?" There is a collective laugh from the boys' side this time. Traitors! I stay sitting and McGonagall beckons to me threateningly with a look that says, "get up here, now, or you will have detention until you graduate," and with a prod from a grinning Harry, I stumble up to the old witch.

She nods and says, "Now, place your right hand on my waist."

Her _what_? Isn't she a bit too old for me? I'm sorry, but we cannot have a relationship, it just wouldn't work out, I feel like saying. Yet, I don't say any of this, instead I say something that I know I will regret until my dying day: "Where?" Along with that, I do one of those grotesque faces that, if someone were to take a picture of, would wonder what sort of pain I was in.

"My waist," she answers, above the students giggling. Never have I felt so adolescent, not even knowing what a girl's waist is. But I know! It's where they curve wonderfully, yet when you're seventy years old, your beauty kind of starts to decline, so that it's just . . . blah. Doesn't she know that? Or does she think that she has a chance with Dumbledore? Or . . . me? I think I might be sick. Nevertheless, I place my hand . . . there, amid whistles from Fred and George and the other boys laughing.

Music starts now as McGonagall steers me across the floor (I think it's actually called "leading," but whatever). Wait a second - music? Is McGonagall _flirting _with me? Does she like me, _that way_? That must be it, why she didn't choose any of the guys who were laughing, because she _likes_ me - that's why! I can see it now, me at the Yule Ball in those girly dress robes and her coming up with her hair in that same tight bun and snogging me to her heart's content while Harry laughs his head off, his arm out of the splint and Hermione looks on pityingly while she is led off by . . . Viktor Krum? No, that isn't going to happen. There is _no way_ that Hermione can go out with a star Quidditch player, she's _mine_! And . . . and it's not as if he would like her, anyway, it's a dream, that's it, just a scary dream. . . . It's not like _the _Viktor Krum would even _think _of inviting plain Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball.

"Everybody! On your feet!" McGonagall orders as she steers (or is it leads?), me around the classroom. Is it just me, or is she humming to herself? I feel bile well up in my throat and force myself not to puke. _At least it's not spiders, at least it's not spiders, _I repeat in my mind frantically as the girls get up and go over to the boys' side, some of them casting me pitying glances (and some of them giving _McGonagall _pitying glances!). The girls pull the boys to their feet and find themselves a partner, it seems like it's on a first-come, first-serve basis to me. I crane my neck to see who's dancing with who. There's Ginny with Neville, ah, well, that's not too bad, Neville looked pretty willing, anyway, and then Hermione . . . where's Hermione? I look for her in the limited space that McGonagall and I are revolving in, but am only able to catch glimpses of things: Parvati with her arms around Seamus's neck, Angelina and Fred - Fred who is trying not to tread on the former's toes, Filch "dancing" with Mrs. Norris - freaky.

_Hermione, where are you?_ I feel like yelling, but then I catch a glimpse of bushy, brown hair and look to see Hermione with her arms around . . . around _Harry_! No! I thought that he liked Cho, why is he with Hermione? I guess that I crane my neck too far for McGonagall's standards, for she draws me back with a sharp snap. "Mr. Weasley, _will _you pay attention?"

What did I ever do to deserve this? Harry is with Hermione and I'm with old McGonagall. It's not that I mind Hermione simply _dancing _with him, but it's that he won't be able to keep his promises if she thinks she'll be able to have a relationship with him. For God's sake, can't the insensitive jerk see that he's just raising her hopes of having something more than a friendship going on even if he's already committed to Cho? Poor, innocent Hermione, I'd help her, but, no, I'm stuck with McGonagall. Once again, what did I do to deserve this? The only time I kicked her was when I thought that it was Mrs. Norris, and that was in _first year_. I was an innocent first-year! Can't she understand that? Why, oh _why _does she have to punish me now, right when Hermione needs my support most? Why, why, why?

There is soft, romantic music playing in the background now and I am revolving slowly on the spot with my dance partner under bright lights. This must be the Yule Ball, I decide. But where are my dress robes? For when I look down at myself, I see myself dressed in royal-blue dress robes with gold trim around the edges. I look, for lack of a better word . . . handsome! Let's see Harry beat _this_! However, when I look up at my dance partner, I feel mediocre in comparison for there is Hermione. I am stunned speechless as I see her, her hair is drawn up in an elegant bun with curled strands of it framing her face. There are faint glimmers of makeup on her perfect features and she is wearing periwinkle blue dress robes with flowing veil-like sleeves and a low neckline. If they had been white, it would have looked as if she were getting married. Which she might . . . hopefully she might . . . to _me_.

I stare slack-jawed at her for a moment, until she smiles and says, "Mr. Weasley, what _are _you doing?" There is a slight laugh in her voice and I grin at her. Flirting with me now, is she? 'Mr. Weasley,' instead of 'Ron,' now, am I?

"Just taking in your beauty, my dear," I reply, trailing my fingers down her neck tenderly.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a bit of a reprimand in her voice.

Normally, Hermione's snap would have stunned me speechless and I would have stopped instantly, but I am beyond reason, now, I'm in love. Hermione's not just my friend, anymore, she's my _love_! "I love it when you act like this," I whisper, before kissing her passionately, my arms going around her neck as I move them everywhere, feeling her perfect body, not caring who's watching as the kiss continues. I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!

I am brought to by a resounding slap on my cheek and draw back, rubbing it. Did I go too far? Is it all over? It is then that I hear a whistle and laughter breaks out. I look to see that it was George who had whistled and is now bent over, clutching a stitch in his side and laughing his head off while Fred does the same. Must be surprised by my show of affection toward Hermione, when before she's simply seemed to be a friend . . . a good friend. _Oh_, but she's so much more than that now! However, it is then that I realize that none of them are in their dress robes and, upon looking at myself, I see that I'm dressed in my plain school robes. And if this isn't the Yule Ball, then . . . oh, please God, no. Please God, _please_!

"What exactly did you mean by that uncouth display, Mr. Weasley?" a sharp voice asks and I look up to see Professor McGonagall, her mouth the thinnest of thin lines, straightening her bun and moving her high-collared robes up still higher.

"I . . . well, I. . . ." I stammer, blushing crimson as I notice Harry and Hermione watching me raptly, the only straight faces of students while other couples lean against each other, clutching stitches in their sides, and, although Harry's lips are twitching, I can tell that he's trying his best not to laugh. My blush fades slightly - only slightly, mind you - since I'm glad that I have a good friend such as him, even if he is the wizarding world's savior and even if he is giving Hermione false hopes. However, it all changes when I see Hermione, she looks confused, dazed. Did I actually ruin my chance with her? Does she think I'm committed somewhere else? Oh, God, if she thinks I have a . . . _relationship _with McGonagall, I'll _die_! How am I supposed to ask her to the Yule Ball now when she thinks that one of her best friends is committed elsewhere? Oh, God, what did I do to deserve this?

"Detentions all this week, Mr. Weasley and I will be telling the headmaster about this," Professor McGonagall says curtly, although not totally hiding the shakiness in her voice. "Class dismissed," she says and all of the students leave, the girls and guys separating into their own cliques and whispering and laughing about what has just happened. It will be around the school in a few hours or less, I know; even Malfoy will know. God, I thought dance lessons were horrible, but this is so much worse, I'll only ever be _friends _with Hermione and the school will talk about the affair that the nothing Ron Weasley had with Professor McGonagall for ages to come.

Note: Well, that's it . . . for now! When the _Order of the Phoenix _movie comes out (sixteen days!), then I'll see if there are any good quotes for Ron and, hopefully, write a chapter for it. I'm pretty sure there will be, though, I mean, he's Ron, he's the comic relief in the whole series. Without him, who would I have to laugh at?


End file.
